I used to be the man I was (but this is more comfortable…)

I used to be the man I was (but this is more comfortable…)

…now, here’s a confession, you know, the kind of
“I was a man who tried to make cabbage trees and taxis
stand in for his problems, and sorrows, the tax returns
”, that

kind of bullshit. Now, I just rest easy: I say I am a taxi, $2 bucks
the flagfall, 50 cents a kilometre, anywhere, I’ll take you
anywhere you want to go, that’s poetry isn’t it, off to a place where

Amex is just fine? Tax? Nooo problem, I’m an IR 13 myself. Who needs
an accountant in this income bracket? No way, I’m kosher, Mr T. Kouka, prickly as a punk, with my falling leaves. Leaves? Shit no, they’re more

like spears, my hairs, good for fucking up rotary mowers when a big
Nor’wester plucks me bare, scatters my sabres right onto the lawn. Can’t
see why you get nostalgic once you leave such a beloved country – I don’t.

I don’t miss you one bit, mooning Kiwis, brooding poets, “Wish I was in
Wellington
” – don’t make me laugh! If I was a taxi, a tax return, a cabbage
tree in Camden, you wouldn’t catch me sick for home. I’d put down

roots, so bugger that. You’re as bad as all those weeds who think that
a poem can change something, do something, be something more
than just a string of crazy words waiting to drop

off the end of a page
or a line

just like the one I fed you. Confessions? Boy-o-boy – you
want some kind

of priest?

Tuesday Poem

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About paparoa

Writer and researcher.
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2 Responses to I used to be the man I was (but this is more comfortable…)

  1. Emma says:

    I really love this.

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